hadn’t and I did.) This time I was stressed about real things, like salvaging our relationship, saving the kingdom from the zombie fungus, and surviving the rest of our journey in my hateful clothes.
A dozen steps into the lea, Duncan set down our bags — which he’d insisted on carrying up the mountain. Before you could say Sweet Baby Sondheim, he pulled off his shirt.
“What’re you doing?” I demanded, my voice cracking like a thirteen-year-old boy’s.
“Changing out o’ these wet clothes.”
It was like trying not to stare into the sun. Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t look away from his half-nakedness. The curse of the ginger prickled up my neck to my cheeks as I sputtered, “Geez! Warn a girl first.”
A familiar twinkle lit his eyes as he reached for his belt. “Just so ye know, I’ll be takin’ my trousers off now.”
The air I so desperately needed fumbled in my throat as my face went from warm to volcanic. He was going to make me swoon — literally! Any second I would face-plant into the grass. Fisting my nails into my palms, I focused on the pain as I took a deep breath.
When I finally found the strength to look away, he teased, “I didna know you were so afflicted with modesty.”
Had he just called me a prude?
“I’m not!” I spat, glancing at him and getting an eyeful of checkered boxers before looking away again. “It’s just — just that, I mean — .”
“Your boyfriend Wheaton wouldn’t approve.” All traces of humor vanished from his voice.
“Weston.” I corrected half-heartedly. “Can we just talk about him? Please.”
“I’d rather not.”
“But he’s — ”
“I said I’d rather not discuss the bloke.”
Fine! At least I tried to tell him the truth. As I listened to Duncan pulling on his boots, I wondered what I would’ve said to explain about Wes. He was a jerk, and my director — and against my better judgment, I’d dated him, which was complicated enough. But the real confusing part was how being with him made me feel achingly bereft. When I was with Wes, my life became a two-dimensional farce.
“Finished.” Duncan’s soft growl drew me back to the present. When I swung around, he averted my gaze as he said, “Let’s get on, then.”
So much for resting. Duncan had changed out of his jeans and Chucks into typical Doonian clothes: sturdy leather boots,dark breeches, and a soft-looking, cream-colored tunic. He looked so warm and comfortable that I determined not to take another step until I changed into something equally as comfy.
Duncan hoisted my bag onto his shoulder just as I made a desperate grab at it. “Wait. I need to change too.”
He let my bag gently drop and I began rummaging around for a suitable outfit. I hadn’t thought to pack sweats — because, well, that would imply I intended on exercising.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t packed any of my rehearsal clothes either. The only soft pants I had were for sleeping. So I was declaring this day — whatever day it happened to be on the Doonian calendar — Doon’s official pajama day.
I grabbed pink flannel bottoms that went with my Evolution of Acting top. Duncan crossed his arms and waited, his face pinched into a frown. Whether the expression was annoyance with me or disapproval over Wes, I was afraid to guess. “Turn around and don’t peek.”
He immediately complied. “Trust me, ye have naught to worry about. I promised your beau not to lay a hand on you, and I wouldna go back on my word.”
“But you already did,” I said as I stripped off my wet shirt and quickly shimmied into my jammie top. “You touched me at the bridge, when I saw the limbus.” And on the beach when we almost kissed.
“That was an extreme situation,” he replied softly. With my back to him, I could barely make out his words. “I had ta make an exception.”
Next, the tricky part. After a quick glance confirmed Duncan was not looking, I wrestled free of my jeans. I quickly swapped my soggy
A dozen steps into the lea, Duncan set down our bags — which he’d insisted on carrying up the mountain. Before you could say Sweet Baby Sondheim, he pulled off his shirt.
“What’re you doing?” I demanded, my voice cracking like a thirteen-year-old boy’s.
“Changing out o’ these wet clothes.”
It was like trying not to stare into the sun. Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t look away from his half-nakedness. The curse of the ginger prickled up my neck to my cheeks as I sputtered, “Geez! Warn a girl first.”
A familiar twinkle lit his eyes as he reached for his belt. “Just so ye know, I’ll be takin’ my trousers off now.”
The air I so desperately needed fumbled in my throat as my face went from warm to volcanic. He was going to make me swoon — literally! Any second I would face-plant into the grass. Fisting my nails into my palms, I focused on the pain as I took a deep breath.
When I finally found the strength to look away, he teased, “I didna know you were so afflicted with modesty.”
Had he just called me a prude?
“I’m not!” I spat, glancing at him and getting an eyeful of checkered boxers before looking away again. “It’s just — just that, I mean — .”
“Your boyfriend Wheaton wouldn’t approve.” All traces of humor vanished from his voice.
“Weston.” I corrected half-heartedly. “Can we just talk about him? Please.”
“I’d rather not.”
“But he’s — ”
“I said I’d rather not discuss the bloke.”
Fine! At least I tried to tell him the truth. As I listened to Duncan pulling on his boots, I wondered what I would’ve said to explain about Wes. He was a jerk, and my director — and against my better judgment, I’d dated him, which was complicated enough. But the real confusing part was how being with him made me feel achingly bereft. When I was with Wes, my life became a two-dimensional farce.
“Finished.” Duncan’s soft growl drew me back to the present. When I swung around, he averted my gaze as he said, “Let’s get on, then.”
So much for resting. Duncan had changed out of his jeans and Chucks into typical Doonian clothes: sturdy leather boots,dark breeches, and a soft-looking, cream-colored tunic. He looked so warm and comfortable that I determined not to take another step until I changed into something equally as comfy.
Duncan hoisted my bag onto his shoulder just as I made a desperate grab at it. “Wait. I need to change too.”
He let my bag gently drop and I began rummaging around for a suitable outfit. I hadn’t thought to pack sweats — because, well, that would imply I intended on exercising.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t packed any of my rehearsal clothes either. The only soft pants I had were for sleeping. So I was declaring this day — whatever day it happened to be on the Doonian calendar — Doon’s official pajama day.
I grabbed pink flannel bottoms that went with my Evolution of Acting top. Duncan crossed his arms and waited, his face pinched into a frown. Whether the expression was annoyance with me or disapproval over Wes, I was afraid to guess. “Turn around and don’t peek.”
He immediately complied. “Trust me, ye have naught to worry about. I promised your beau not to lay a hand on you, and I wouldna go back on my word.”
“But you already did,” I said as I stripped off my wet shirt and quickly shimmied into my jammie top. “You touched me at the bridge, when I saw the limbus.” And on the beach when we almost kissed.
“That was an extreme situation,” he replied softly. With my back to him, I could barely make out his words. “I had ta make an exception.”
Next, the tricky part. After a quick glance confirmed Duncan was not looking, I wrestled free of my jeans. I quickly swapped my soggy
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